From the Frying Pan
by ComicalEpiphanies
Summary: In school, August Anderson had made himself into a person to be respected among his peers and elders. He KNEW he was ready for the Farm. Then he got there. Newest installment of my Rookie Auggie series. First in the order.
1. Orientation

**Yes, I'm back in America. And writing. If you have forgotten me after my yearlong sabbatical, or never read my stories in the first place, I've been writing a series (once a trilogy, but now, with a fourth installment) of Auggie stories before Annie, among other things. I started with "Close and Continuing", about Auggie's relationship with Natasha, and built backwards from there. This is the newest story, but it falls into place before "Shaken Not Stirred", around late 2002. This is not yet completed, but I've been making good headway; I'm now into chapter four. I'd like to thank mandy58 for encouraging me to keep developing Pre-Auggie. In honor of her new job, I give you all: "From the Frying Pan".**

Chapter One: Orientation

For the tenth time in fewer minutes, August Anderson pushed up his obnoxiously large glasses to rest on the bridge of his nose. A second later, they slid back down, and Auggie—as he preferred to be called—mentally cursed himself yet again for not plucking up the nerve to go to the optometrist so that he could get more contacts. Apparently when you've missed your yearly check-up for two years running, they hold the lens prescription hostage, no matter how many times you explain that your eyes are just fine. So unless he wanted to squint at the PowerPoint presentations and his future instructors all day, Auggie was stuck wearing his emergency glasses, which he hadn't worn since his first day of high school after a jock called him a bug. It had taken being the first freshman on the varsity wrestling team to get rid of the nickname, but in the foggy moments of post-wake up-pre-coffee, Auggie'd managed to convince himself that his fellow SPIs wouldn't be as cruel. But after three solid hours of them slipping down his nose and not a few smirks aimed his way, his conviction was quickly on its way to collapsing.

Auggie surrendered his battle for the moment and shifted in his seat, keeping his eyes on the screen and the current PowerPoint in an attempt to stay awake. This particular presentation was even more boring than the first, which was saying something. Auggie dragged his wandering mind back to the present and forced himself to listen to the presenter.

"…Remember the number one rule: loyalty to the Company is above all else. Keeping your country and her citizens safe is your primary objective. Thank you."

The audience clapped heartily—more out of relief that it was over than anything else—Auggie thought. Two hours was more than too long to listen to the rules and why secrecy was so important. Especially as everyone had already signed the thousand or so non-disclosure contracts. After all that, if they didn't know that working for CIA would require lying, two hours listening to a monotone suit wasn't going to help them.

"Cadets!"

Auggie jumped in his seat and his glasses slid down another centimeter. The bellow had erupted from the latest speaker, a short, unassuming man whose gravelly voice did not at all fit his stature. Auggie could feel the authority rolling off the little man, and instantly respected him, despite the shivers traversing his spine.

"You lot are the first trainees in five years. You number a grand hundred and fifty-six, but by the end of this year, only a third of you will have shown you have the _GUTS_ and the _SMARTS_ to be a spy for the great Untied States of America. In case you weren't listening to the people before me"—Auggie shifted in his seat—"this isn't a film you've signed up for. There will be sweat. There will be pain. There will be blood. And maybe for some unlucky bastards, there will be death."

The man's face had gone even graver than it had started as, if that was possible. He let his words echo through the auditorium, daring someone, anyone, to laugh. No one did.

"The battles start tomorrow at oh five hundred. If you feel like you've bitten off more than you can chew at the end of this week, you can leave. After that, I decide if you're fit. You stay until I tell you to go. And when I tell you to go, you will be gone within the hour. No exceptions."

This time when the presenter stepped off the stage, no one clapped. The whole room was loud only in its silence. Auggie had no doubts in his decision to be an agent, but he still found himself gulping involuntarily.

oooOOOOOOoooo

When Auggie had dropped his stuff off in the room that might very well be his for the next ten months, his future roommate hadn't arrived yet. Auggie'd hoped that he'd never show, but lady luck wasn't on his side. A moment before he reached for the door handle to open the door, it swung open to reveal the Hulk.

The giant muscle-man held out his hand. "Drew Wellington. Guess you're my roomie?"

At a little more than six feet and a just under one hundred and sixty pounds, Auggie suddenly felt entirely too small next to this clothed mountain. He shook Drew's hand, praying he didn't see just how small his hand looked wrapped around his new roommate's sausage-like fingers. "August Anderson."

"Nice to meet you, Aug," Drew replied cordially.

"In fact, I prefer Auggie," Auggie tried to say, but Drew was already on another topic. He made the split-second decision to let it go and hoped he wouldn't regret it.

"I saw you took the left bunk. S'okay. Ex-marine. I could sleep on a log and I'd be good. Actually, I think I _did_ sleep in a tree once. Sniper, ya know. Yeah, bet I know what you're thinkin'. What's a big guy like me doin' as a snipe? Well, I'll tell ya; I'm a crack-shot. Ever since I was littl' an' ma pa and me went huntin' in the Ozarks. Ya know the Ozarks? Where ya from, anyway? I'm from Oklahoma, the border, actually. Ma pa worked as a logger there in the Ozarks. Arkansas, mostly, and I went ta school in Texas, but our home was in Oklahoma."

Drew finally paused for a breath and Auggie took the opportunity to speak.

"I'm from Illinois."

"Ya been there your whole life?" Drew replied. He'd put his single duffle bag on his bed and had begun unpacking. "Wish I'd traveled more. That's why I joined up. Thought I'd be a marine for life 'til ma CO convinced me. Made me realize I'd rather prevent than react, 'specially after September. But ma pa always said ya only do things for one reason, pride. Either ya want it, or ya just got it. Which one're ya?"

Auggie, who'd stopped listening somewhere after "traveled more", looked up from hanging his suit in the closet. "Sorry, what?"

"Why're ya here?" Drew didn't seem fazed by Auggie's clear lack of attention. Judging from the way he sped through his sentences, Auggie would hazard a guess that inattentiveness in his audience was a trait Drew had come to expect.

"My advisor in college recruited me. Not many computer programmers are their world champions wrestling team's MVP two years running, apparently."

"That's awesome man, but ya didn't answer my question. Why ya here?"

Auggie seized up for a second. He _really_ didn't want to answer that question. It was more personal than he felt comfortable with, even if he already felt more trusting than usual toward his chatty roomie. "You ask a lot of questions, you know," Auggie deflected.

Drew smiled, clearly either ignoring Auggie's avoidance or not seeing it at all. "Yeah, I know. Ma pa used to say the only time I'm quiet is when I'm alone, and even then, it's touch-n-go. I'm just curious, ya know. Don't mean nothing by it." For the first time, he lost a little of the happy glint in his eyes. "If I'm talkin' too much, just throw a pillow at me or something. Tha's what ma bros used to do back in the Corps."

Auggie shut the last drawer and turned around to face his now slightly less cheery roommate, feeling a surprising stab of guilt in his gut. "S'okay. One of my roommates was a heavy metal rocker. I can just about block out anything after a year of that."

Drew smiled again. "Thanks, Aug. Hey, ya finished?" Auggie looked around for something else to do, and finding nothing urgent, shrugged. "Me too. I know they said dinner starts at nineteen hundred, but if it's anything like boot camp, the first meal's the best. If we want the good stuff, we should probably leave now."

"Yeah, good idea." Auggie pushed his glasses up again and motioned for Drew to lead the way.


	2. Beginner's Luck

**A/N: I could have sworn I posted this months ago, but apparently not. I'm caught on chapter four, but I want to give the story another whack. I'm hoping some feedback will give be a narrower objective than what I'm working with now, hence the update. **

Chapter Two: Beginner's Luck

Auggie jerked straight up in his bunk, his hair tousled and ears ringing from the screeching noise that had awoken him.

"Mornin'," Drew greeted.

Auggie turned to look at his roommate, but in the darkness and without his glasses, he couldn't see his expression. His sleep-addled mind did manage to register that Drew was sitting on the edge of his bunk, tying his shoe.

"You're up already?" Auggie felt around his nightstand for his glasses, glancing at his alarm clock. "Christ, why'd they wake us up at four thirty in the morning?"

Drew stood up and switched on the light. Auggie flinched at the sudden brightness. "I'm just guessin', but I bet ta make sure everybody's awake for the run in fifteen minutes."

"At four thirty?" Auggie still hadn't moved, completely unwilling to acknowledge that he should probably start getting dressed.

Drew shrugged. "At boot camp, it was four. Sometimes, even three if the COs weren' happy." He tossed Auggie a pair of sweat pants from Auggie's dresser, apparently oblivious to the idea of personal space. "Here, put those on. Ya'll need 'um."

Auggie groaned. The adrenaline of being awoken so harshly was already wearing off, and he was seriously contemplating laying back and ignoring everything until he fell back to sleep. He'd had trouble going to sleep, and hadn't managed it until well after one o'clock.

"They won't sound the thingie again, ya know. Ma pa says it's better ta be miserable now than later."

Auggie nodded and took a deep breath before standing up. He was no stranger to waking up early for a run and exercise after a late night, but four thirty was pushing it. But at least it was better than three, he told himself.

"There ya go! Cheer up, Aug. I bet it'll only be five or six miles today."

Auggie decided then and there that Drew was too happy to be allowed to live this early in the morning.

oooOOOOOOoooo

Auggie'd always considered himself in good shape. As a member of his high school's, and later his college's, wrestling teams, he was not unfamiliar in the least to the gym. He spent at least an hour every other day at the gym doing weight training and swimming, and was in the habit of running every morning.

So why was he panting, the last one in the ragtag formation, barely able to move his legs? Even the woman in his group who was five feet only by standing on her tiptoes was ahead of him. He'd run six miles easily before—many times, in fact—but now he couldn't seem to get enough air into his lungs.

Was it the altitude? No, it couldn't be that, Auggie decided. He lived in Georgetown. The Farm was only an hour or so away. The terrain, it had to be. Running through a forest on uneven ground in the barely-dawn light was the problem. Or was he really just as out of shape as he seemed to be?

Auggie gave up trying to figure it out. He forced himself to breath through his nose, his throat already raw. He tried to remember what his wrestling coach in high school used to tell him: breath to a one-two rhythm. Let your organs know they'll get air.

The advice had been good up to now. Auggie's glasses slipped down his sweaty nose, and he wished more than anything that he could just pull them off and put them in his pocket, but he knew he would be practically blind if he did. He needed to see what was ahead. He needed to stay with his fellow runners, all of whom seemed to be completely at ease.

He could just make out Drew's form a good thirty yards ahead of the group, barely sweating. The sight sent an irrational feeling of jealousy plunging into Auggie's gut. He gritted his teeth and forced his aching legs to speed up. He focused on Drew's t-shirt, eyes narrowing, legs pumping. He was gaining, the group nearing and then slowly falling behind as he pushed himself harder.

FWOOOM!

Auggie's left foot had slid on a patch of wet, half-decomposed leaves, and he'd lost his balance mid-stride, sending his head toward the ground with tremendous force. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, its rapid decent to the earth was prevented by the very tree that last autumn, had dropped the leaf that had started his elegant tumble.

Auggie registered someone, a female probably, laughing, but he only had time to think that he would have one seriously big knot on his head before he succumbed to darkness.

oooOOOOOOoooo

Auggie's return to consciousness was slow. At first he felt the scratchy surface of what seemed to be a blanket under him, then he smelled the distinct scent of cleaning solution. Only after he'd registered the construction crew was not outside, but rather working on an express highway inside his brain, did he open his eyes.

"It's about time you woke up," someone remarked.

Auggie turned his head, and instantly regretted it as one of the figurative construction workers suddenly started a jackhammer. He grimaced and squinted at the speaker. "What?" he asked, softly, in a fain attempt to not provoke the headache further.

"You've been out for a good couple of hours. Nice knock you gave yourself there." The blurry woman gestured to Auggie's left temple. "Congratulations, you're the first concussion of the year. Only patent in five years, actually, but I suppose you'll have some company soon."

"Huh?" Auggie couldn't bring himself to be more articulating.

"Five years. Since the hiring freeze," the female explained, only slightly less than patiently. "I think half an hour into the first day is also a record, come to think of it."

Auggie didn't really care. All he wanted at the moment was to make his head stop hurting, or at least shrink it back to its normal size. "How'd I get here?" he finally managed to get out.

"You took a nosedive into a tree, remember?"

Auggie decided against nodding. "Yeah, but after?"

"After—one of your teammates brought you in here." The nurse, as Auggie assumed she was, turned around for a second and then pushed his glasses into his hand. "Here, you might want these. They're a little bent of shape, but I managed to get them relatively straight. You should look into contacts, by the way. Glasses aren't the best idea here. Especially those."

Auggie shrugged, ignoring yet another throb from his head, and put them on. He blinked to adjust to the new focus. He was surprised to see that the woman was much prettier than he was expecting, and her white lab coat proved her to be a doctor, rather than a nurse. She seemed to be in her late thirties, tall, but not extremely so, and on the brink of stout. Her long, curly brown hair was pulled up into a ponytail, business-like. Then her last phrase hit him. "What's wrong with my glasses?"

The doctor smiled. "A little out of fashion, aren't they?" Auggie couldn't deny the heavy metal frames had hardly been in style when he'd bought them freshman year of high school, but he found himself oddly protective of them. He was allowed to make fun of them, not someone else. He was about to say as much when the woman went on as if stating an afterthought. "The people writing your checks don't like their employees at a disadvantage. They'll probably take glasses, especially ones as thick as yours, as a weakness."

Auggie could see where they were coming from. Without his glasses, he could barely see a foot in front of him. He resolved to get over his irrational fear of the optometrist as soon as possible. Before that, even. Auggie realized his attention had wandered and tuned back into the doctor.

"…You have a pretty beautiful concussion. You're not in any danger, I don't think, but I want you here overnight at least."

Auggie wanted to shake his head, but he thought better of it just in time. "Can't. I've got to make a good impression. I've got to go to class."

The woman shrugged and smiled her understanding. "You've already made an impression, and missed your first morning. As a former ambitious med-student I'd let you go, but as a doctor, I can't. You need your rest. Besides, you wouldn't be able to concentrate very well with that headache I know you have."

"I'm—" Auggie began, only to be interrupted.

"Stand up and show me, then."

Auggie determinately pushed himself off the bed. He got both feet on the floor before the room spun too fast for him to make sense of the world and his head exploded in white hot pain. "Crap," he mumbled, allowing the woman to help him into a lying position.

"Think of it this way: no early morning run for at least a week," she said jovially.

"Don't count on it," Auggie replied, closing his eyes before the spinning colors could make him too nauseated. It was too late.

_Don't vomit, don't vomit_,_ do NOT vomit!_ he commanded his stomach. A second later, he pitched himself over the side of the bed, convulsing and spewing stomach acid.

"I suppose you don't want breakfast, then?" the woman asked sarcastically.

Auggie just groaned.


End file.
